The Fox and The Snare
by TheWomanWhoCodesAndWrites
Summary: AU in Panem - no Games, normal-looking Capitolites. The Capitol controlled the twelve districts, and the male Senators had this right to claim any district girl they wanted as a 'Chosen One'. Johanna Mason became one of them when a rebellious young Senator decided to save her life for the second time. Would she follow her pride, or her heart which had admired him all along?


**AN: **This long oneshot is a prequel to an Everlark story I'm yet to write (have to finish "Lines" and "A Tale of Two Districts" first before I get there, I think - I'm one for finishing what I started). This story and the story I'm yet to write are inspired by this story I've heard about some real past ruler of the modern world who had this habit/power to point out at any woman in the crowd and make her his. Who he was, I won't point fingers - he was a great ruler in his own ways. The have-her-just-by-a-look situation is indeed disturbing though, and that was what prompted me to write this story and plan the one I'm yet to work on.

Basically it's set in an alternate version of Panem, where there was no Hunger Games and Capitol people looked just like normal people with fancier clothes, but the Capitol still controlled everything happening in the districts. As a twist to the situation, the Senators of Panem had this right to claim any girl they want from the district and take them to the Capitol just like that. Johanna is your narrator for this one, for it's her story with Gale - Senator Gale Hawthorne. This is her journey from a scared, freshly-orphaned thirteen year old being punished for her parents' mistakes, to a so-called 'Chosen One' of a rebelling Senator who would change Panem.

This story was written over a period of a little over 24 hours - my record so far, by number of words. Please do point out my mistakes if you find them - or if you think there are improvements to be made here. I appreciate honestly greatly :).

Oh, and for Johanna/Gale hardcore fans, I also have a slightly extended version of this, which I will post on Archive on Our Own for it contains lemons and ff doesn't have an 'Explicit' rating allowed. Just for the sake of correctness and the comfort of my readers, of course. My username on the other site is the same, 'TheWomanWhoCodesAndWrites'.

**Disclaimer: **THG trilogy, Panem, and the characters all belong to Suzanne Collins. I'm just borrowing and twisting and blending with some real-world situations :).

* * *

**The Fox and The Snare**

**Year 66 after the Rebellion**

Panem. This messed up country, formed by twelve districts - people say thirteen, but I'm not gonna believe them until I see it myself - and The Capitol which controls everything. They decide things for us, hog all our resources, work us hard like slaves, and do whatever the heck they want to us people in the district. It's funny and ironic and outrageous that this little tiny place smaller than even some of the districts, and these few people forming what they think is the Panem Government, ends up being in control of everything. How that came to be, I have no slightest idea. I guess my parents had no slightest idea, too - and that was why they rebelled.

Thanks to bad luck and some meddling people, they failed miserably at planning stage. Peacekeepers came knocking at our door one night and dragged both of them out, as I hid under the bed at their hasty request. Their last request, actually, for they were dead by the morning. I buried them three days later with the help of the few relatives we still had.

Apparently, I'm at fault too, for being their daughter. And being orphaned and sent to live with some overloaded relatives who could barely scrap by to feed one extra person wasn't enough a punishment. Not even three months later, I've been once more graced by a visit from Peacekeepers. This time, it was me they dragged out of the house, into the darkness of the night.

They didn't shoot me, though. They just brought me somewhere else and left me with a bunch of strange, older women, who scrubbed me and pulled out all my body hair. As in, all of them. No places spared.

"The Senators don't usually like this," the youngest of them - who was the kindest to me - explained as I swore at them for pulling out the hair on that private part of mine. "This thing isn't big in The Capitol."

And that was exactly how I knew what on earth they were doing, really. What on earth my punishment is.

Today, the Parliamentary Entourage from Capitol will make a stop here in our district, as part of their Midyear visit. And as an ultimate final punishment for my dead parents, I'm going to be some Senator's whore-of-the-day. At age thirteen.

* * *

I had no time to plan a failsafe escape. They threw me into a car and drove me to this heavily-guarded mansion as soon as they finished my remaking. I've been kept in this room since, with a whole lot of other girls and women dressed similarly to me: like tramps. Away from the world, from the Midyear visit events happening in front of the Justice Building, and anything, really. Waiting for our _dear _Senators to arrive.

"Let's hope it's the younger bunch they sent this year," one woman - looking mid-twenties - says to another woman next to her. "The older ones are just... yuck."

"Heard Ol' Hawthorne is leading," the woman behind them barges in, looking cynically amused. "I pity whoever gets him and his weird tastes."

I decide to recite the Panem Manifesto in my head, just to block out the ridiculous conversations of those professional whores behind me. As ridiculous as the thing is, it doesn't make my stomach lurch. Unlike the thought of those Senators and the things they'll do to me.

"Here they are," the girl behind me whispers, with a purring voice which would have made me vomit had I have anything in my stomach. "Let the choosing games begin."

This is it.

I clench my fists on my sides and lift my head to look at them. I can't let myself falter. I'm not scared of them, and I'm gonna show I'm not scared. They can do what they want, can think what they want, but _no_. I'm not theirs, and will never be. I might die for this, but, oh well. I'd rather die than letting them have all the things they want.

"Senator Hawthorne!" the pimp - a middle-aged woman with ridiculous make up - greets their leader ceremoniously. "Welcome to district Seven!"

The man - who's pretty much old, with white hair and wrinkles and all - smiles a somewhat sleazy smile.

"Thanks," he says then, in this wicked voice I'll never be able to shake off my head. "Nice to be here after a long day, really."

"Of course!" pimp dear exclaims again, still in her fake enthusiastic face. "Come on, have your pick! We have all kinds of them this year. Twenty five, thirteen, tall, short, skinny, curvy..."

The man holds out a hand.

"Thirteen you say?" he asks.

My stomach lurches again, for obvious reasons.

"Yes!" pimp dear exclaims. I pull back into this crowd of whores a little bit as she walks towards us, her eyes darting around looking for her girl. I know that's me. I must be the only thirteen year old here.

"Here you are!" she finally says, her eyes on me. "Come on here, you sweet little one!"

Sweet? Hah. She doesn't know who I am.

I come forward, just so. I'm not going to let anyone drag me again. I'm strong. I'm brave. I can handle this.

I'm not afraid.

Or perhaps I am, but there's no way I'll tell them that.

The pimp begins raving things about me - which are all fake, I know - but I don't give a dime. I focus my eyes on the man; the disgusting, sleazy, wicked old man. He looks back at me. And he's interested.

_Shit_, but, _no shit_. Look on. Look on, Brainless. You're not scared of him, right?

I exhale - a bit too loudly, I realize - as he breaks his gaze and turns around to someone behind him.

"You like her?"

Now that he's been brought into attention, I notice the quiet, tall young man behind Ol' Hawthorne. He's gorgeous, really - dark and handsome, with these intriguing grey eyes which hold a staunch gaze. Pretty much a looker, for my stomach does this crazy butterflies when I look at him. Which is pretty messed up, by the way, for I don't think I'm supposed to grow any crush to a potential predator of mine.

"... yes," gorgeous finally says, his eyes moving to the old man in front of him. "I like her, Grandfather."

_Grandfather_? Hell. This can be a whole lot of new catastrophe.

"All yours, then," the old man says to gorgeous, patting his back in a sickening proud gesture. "Show her what it means to be with a Hawthorne."

Gorgeous nods and smiles this small, somewhat insincere smile. I clench my fists tighter, as he steps forward with two Peacekeepers close behind him.

"Come on," he commands me, casually grabbing one of my stiff, trembling arms. "Let's head for the room."

* * *

I titter along in these heels, clumsy and reluctant, as he drags me through some windowless corridors and to yet another secret place with the two Peacekeepers in tow. Heck. I can't do this. I have to run away.

But where? There's no window in sight. I don't even know where I am in this district, should I make it out of the building. And contrary to my previous bravado, I don't really wanna die. Now that I've thought about it, I don't really wanna die. I'm scared.

"Here it is," gorgeous mutters, as we stop in front of a double door. He turns to the Peacekeepers and says, "I can handle her."

The two leave without question. It's only me and him now, and that room behind the door.

"Come in," he commands me, pushing the door in front of us. "We don't have much time."

I stumble in as he gives me that push on my back. He follows suit, and I can hear the door slamming closed behind us. _Shit_. This is all happening.

Taking a deep breath to gather my resolve, I spin around. Now is the time. If I'm to run away, I have to do it now. When I still have my clothes on. When he hasn't...

All the racing thoughts in my head stop, as the view of him jabbing in some numbers - quick and agile, with those long fingers - into a pad behind the door expands before my eyes.

"Chill," he orders me, turning around so we see eye to eye now. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not like the old man."

I don't buy it. So I just stare on. My brain ransacks all the memories and knowledge I've accumulated the whole thirteen years of my life for an escape plan. With no avail, sadly. My only hope is to kill this young man - this _boy - _in front of me. Then dive out the window into the wild.

I twist my body and concentrate my movements on my legs, before I realize what a stupid idea it is to do an obvious check on the windows when he's there looking at me. I've seen so many stupid people in my life before, and he clearly doesn't look like one. Those intelligent eyes would easily see what I'm exactly planning.

He stares on, as I hold my gaze on him. Soon, we enter this weird staring match, which neither of us want to lose.

Eventually, he grows impatient and strides forward, closing the few-feet distance between us. My feet step back for me before I can even process what happens. Damn this stupid body and its acute survival instincts. Haven't I told it I'm not scared of this man?

Except that's a lie, and it knows better than I do that it's a _fucking_ lie.

The feet keep moving, and before long, I've been pinned against a wall, with his tall figure towering above me. Even in these ridiculous heels, I'm no close match to his height. Not even a close match at all, I realize, as he leans down to bring himself to my eye level.

"We don't have much time," he says to me, calm and calculated. I can see his eyes burning with fire, though. My body squirms at the sight, terrified of what might soon be. I'm gonna get violated. Soon. And hell knows how he'll be, there in bed.

"To... to the hell with your dick!"

Now, that sounds mousey and whimpery, but that's the only thing I manage to say, out of the thousands flying in my head. Not my best, I must say, but at least I tried.

And that must be really funny for him, for he starts laughing. Not 'laughing' laughing. More like cynical snorts of some sort.

"Listen, squirt," he says, once he calms down enough to speak again. "I'm not my Grandfather. I don't do kids just for the sake of it."

That's what I want to hear, exactly. But I can't bring myself to believe it.

"Stop lying," I squeak out at him. My breath hitches and dizziness starts taking my head over, but I will myself to keep staring. "You... you Senators... are all the same."

He turns stern at this.

"Don't," he warns me, low and dangerous. I freeze, as he lifts up a hand to my chin and starts cupping it firmly, tilting it upwards. "I'm not one of them. I don't even wanna be one of them. Got it?"

"No," I gasp out. He tilt my head so much my neck hurts and I can barely make a sound, but I just have to say that. "No. Liar."

He spits out what sound like a swear word on my face and lifts his other hand above my head. I close my eyes, just so that I don't have to see him hitting me. I don't know how to be hit, really. I've never been hit, even once. My parents don't - _didn't _- do that to me.

But the impact never comes, and suddenly, he just releases and leaves me.

I open my eyes, as I press my hands firmly on the wall to stop my limp, shaking body from sinking completely to the ground. I haven't lose this fight. And I'm not gonna lose it.

He's still here in the room. In the middle of it now, grabbing on that table so hard I can see his knuckles turning white.

"You really want to get hit, don't you?" he spits out, hostile and angry, as he eyes me from where he stands.

"I'd rather you hit me to death," I spit back out at him. I feel my resolve coming back, up my legs and into my spine. My back straightens itself in a new vigour, and my stilled heart starts beating again, pumping fire-laced blood throughout my body. "I'd rather die, than having you touching me."

He lets out yet another cynical snort at this.

"We're fighting for the same cause here, squirt," he says. I watch on, as he releases that table - with the right amount of violence it shakes - and strides over to me again. "I'd rather find a way to get you out of here than fucking a kid for that old man's sake."

"No you don't," I retort, laughing humorlessly at him. "How should I believe you? You guys just know how to _take _from the districts. You surely know how to _take _from me."

He lets out a sigh of frustration and runs a hand on his hair.

"Between you and me," he then says, a little defeated but still somewhat stoic. "I hate that old man and his friends and their ridiculous ideas of Capitol's superiority over the districts."

"How could you?" I ask him, stubborn yet curious. "You were born into one of their families, raised like them, all in all. How could you not like them?"

He turns away at this, inhaling deeply before turning back and continues, "my mother's a district girl."

Aha. So he's one of them. A child bore by a district girl for a Senator who spotted her in the crowd or just randomly, kidnapped and tore her away from her district and family, and made her a bound wife in the Capitol. I've heard lots of those stories about those poor girls from my parents and relatives and friends and everyone here at Seven. There's been plenty of those cases throughout the district - and apparently in another districts, according to those other rebels my parents communicated with - over the years since that failed rebellion sixty-something years ago. It's hard to figure out what exactly happened to them, for once a girl was chosen, she was gone, just like, 'hey, presto!'. Sometimes it's possible to tell when she's screwed up big time there, though. Take that lumberjack family burnt alive in their shack two years after their daughter was taken.

"Which district?" I ask him, curious. Curious isn't all that I am, though. I'm also still determined not to let him in and trust him, just for the sake of putting up a fight.

"Twelve," he answers me in a whisper. "A coal miner's daughter. My Father was in this hunting trip to the woods outside it with his friends, when he passed through the districts and saw her walking with her little brother on the streets."

I don't know what it is about the statement, but I feel my tense shoulders relaxing once I heard it. It's as if he's an open book now, someone I can trust. This is a foolish notion, I realize, but my intuition tells me he's worth the chance. So a chance I give him, to help or to destroy me.

"Okay," I tell him, feeling my gaze on him softening and my cheeks relaxing. "How are you gonna get me out of here?"

He scans the room quickly and frowns in thought, before clicking his fingers victoriously and turning back to me.

"That window there - see it?"

I follow his thumb, which is pointing to a small window at the other end of the room.

"If my earlier observation was right, that should open to the side of this building, where the garden is."

"Good plan," I say to him. My cheeks starts burning from this strange admiration I feel towards this boy in front of me, and I turn away to hide the stupid blush. I can't let him know I like him. The higher up I hold my game here, the better it would be for me. Who knows if he'll snatch me and take me down there to the Capitol once he realizes I've begun liking him?

"Let's give it a shot then," he says to me, turning to where the window is. From here, all I can see is his back - looking muscled beneath that crisp shirt, although not as broad as some lumberjacks from here's are. My cheeks grow redder, and I turn away again, focusing instead on the fact that he has enough strength to help me out of here.

Something snaps open, and a gust of fresh air enters this room. He's gotten the window open for me.

"Come here," he beckons me in a loud whisper. "It's what I thought it was."

I stride - titter - towards where he is, apprehensive yet somewhat hopeful. If he's as trustworthy as my intuition tells me, this is truly my ticket to freedom.

He steps aside as I reach the window, as if giving me a chance to look outside. And that's what I do, now that he's given me the chance. I can confirm, now, that he's not lying. It's indeed a window to the gardens, full of roses and other kinds of flower filling the evening air with sweet floral smell.

"Should be alright for you to dive out," he says to me. His arm extends to block me, though, as I lunge forward to do what he said. "Not now. People might be watching."

He shoves me out of the way afterwards, sticking his own head outside the window instead. A few minutes pass, as I grow impatient and he looks on, turning left and right every few seconds for whatever reason he has.

"It's safe," he finally informs me, looking over his shoulder. "You may dive out now."

I take off the ridiculous heels and step back to the window, as he steps back aside to make a way for me. By some luck, they'd dressed me in some kind of low cut top and short shorts, instead of the skimpy tight dress most other girls had. I take a deep breath and climb onto the windowsill, willing myself to jump out and start running. As much as I want out of here, I can't shake this little forlorn feeling I have now that my acquaintance with the gorgeous Hawthorne junior is over.

"In case you'll come here again in the future, I'm Johanna," I finally say, turning to him as I can't hold it out any longer. "Good luck, Hawthorne."

He just watches on, as I make that jump out of the ground floor window, right to an empty patch between two rose bushes.

"Gale," he says, finally, just as I spin around to make my run. "My name's Gale."

And it's his name that I chant in my head, as I make that crazy dash across the gardens and up the fences, out to the wilderness in front of me. Like a little fox freed from a snare.

* * *

**Year 71 After the Rebellion**

As I drift along with the crowd towards the Justice Building, I can't help but thinking about that fateful day exactly five years ago, when my path crosses with that of a young Senator with grey eyes and a district girl mother.

He's never been here again so far. I'm sure as hell about it, for I've been closely and eagerly following the schedules of each Parliamentary Entourage visits - Midyear, End-of-year, sporadics - and made sure I stood close enough to the stage to see whenever we're called to hear the speeches. The other members of my little Band of Rascals - just a bunch of displaced kids living in an abandoned building and doing illegal stuff to keep ourselves alive, really - think I'm weird and obsessed with Senators. They make fun of my like anything, though they usually stop when I show them who's the boss. What a bunch of sissies those friends of mine are, really.

I can't help but thinking about young Senator Gale Hawthorne every now and then. It's impossible for me to just dismiss him, after he'd let me run away. I also have this feeling that it's not all he's done to keep me safe, though. No one has ever gone after me again since that. Even when I'm still this rebels' daughter I'm sure The Capitol wants gone, even after I've run away from my whoring assignment just like that. I don't know what exactly he did, but he's freed me completely. He's also spared my relatives - whom as far as I'm concerned don't know that I'm alive - from the troubles I must have caused by running away. I still see them every now and then, whenever I do my little sneaky walks around where they live just to check on them.

The Old Senator Hawthorne - that creepy man Gale called "Grandfather" - passed a couple of years ago, I heard. Some kind of accident doing something in his own house. Didn't really pay much attention why or how, for I was in a hurry to run a mission, but I heard that clearly from all the riches gossiping in front of their houses. The notorious, cruel lawmaker was dead. And is dead now, and will forever be dead. And that apparently makes Gale the patriarch of the Hawthorne clan, I heard, for his father has also passed. He has so much power now, way more than what he had that day we met. I wonder if he's still the same silent, honourable rebel that he was, or if he's a completely different person now. I secretly hope it's the first case, although the second case would also be really interesting.

The commotion around me stops. Here we are, at the security checkpoint. Soon, I'll spend half a minute or so getting searched by some Peacekeeper - who usually wouldn't miss the chance to grope me along too - for weapons and other dangerous things. That first year I joined the Band of Rascals, I lost a knife to my own foolishness here. From then on, though, I haven't lost anything. I asked the boys to teach me hand combat, and that's what I've been bringing to this event since. Just in case - just in case - some crazy Senator gives me 'the look' and send his Peacekeepers to get me. A little bit impossible I know, for I dress in all black and make sure things are loose, and keep my hair short and spiky. Steering myself away as much as possible from the Capitol definition of beauty.

"Hands up above your head, Miss."

And here it goes. The weapon-check and the sneaky gropes on my chest and ass.

"Okay, you may pass. Have a great day."

I give the sleazy Peacekeeper a lopsided smirk and walk on, turning the other direction from most of them people are heading to. I'm gonna stand right on the Senators' eye level this time. Who knows if I'm gonna get lucky, if I'm gonna catch a glimpse of my old friend this time. I can't afford to miss it, if it'll really be him this year.

The music and the dancing girls start just as I reach the spot I've been coveting for. Perfect timing. I blend myself casually among the middle-aged lumberjacks and other men brave enough to stand here. Some people give me some look, but hell cares. I don't have any reputation anyway. If anything, most of the district don't even know I still exist.

I stand still there and watch on half-arsedly, until they're here. Making their closely-guarded way to the stage, in their fancy black suits. The Parliamentary Entourage of the year. Spearheaded by that Senator who's been here several times - Blight or something like that - and manned by some younger ones. Looks like we've gotten quite an eye-candy crowd this year.

Blight takes the stage and starts droning on. It's one of his standard introduction speeches, really, with those jokes which has never gotten refreshed. It amazes me some people still laugh at them, considering how overused they've been now. Oh well, I guess not everyone has a good memory of things.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your speaker for this year, Senator Gale Hawthorne!"

What? Did I hear that correctly?

I take a deep breath to still my beating heart, as I straighten my back for a better look. There's not much I can get, sadly, for the man on the stage wears this ridiculous sunglasses covering his eyes and most of his face. But then he starts speaking, and I know it's him. My memory might have been five years old, but it's fresh. I hogged onto it obsessively, replaying it in my head every night, as I find ways to lull myself to sleep.

His speech's pretty good, I can tell, though I don't fully register what he says. In a true lovestruck-fool fashion, I just stand there mesmerized by his voice and the sight of him, all when berating my own self to get over it. To no avail. I can only get over it once he stops speaking and handing the stage back to Blight, for the closing remarks no one cares about.

* * *

His voice still rings in my ear, as I make my dazed way out of the secure area in front of the Justice Building.

'_Gale. My name's Gale._'

Thinking about it alone evokes a lot of fantasies in my head. All naughty and inappropriate - I can't even believe for myself that my brain conceived some of them. My five-years worth of sexual tension, really. Starting with a small spark when I was thirteen - holding hands and kissing and all - and exploded into full craziness the year I turned sixteen. Hell may burn me for my sick obsession of this older adult, but who cares. I do what I want. That's what I do best.

"Hey, Fox!"

I turn towards the voice, for that's my nickname among The Rascals. There stands Ash, our Supreme Ringleader, with his auburn hair and all-black costume like mine.

"Boss!" I greet him back, pretending to sound enthusiastic and glad to see him though I actually wish to have some more moments alone with my fantasy. "Still alive?"

He lifts my hand playfully and places it over his chest.

"Feel it beating kid," he says to me, smiling lopsidedly. I smile back, for I know what he wants. It's no secret that he likes me _that _way. I'm the only Rascal Girl, aside of his sister, who doesn't annoy him, I think.

"Sure is alive," I say to him, winking. "Heading back home?"

"Nah," he answers me. His eyes dart towards the wealthy district crowd, with all their jewellery and nice clothes and bags. "Got something to do."

"Oh well," I respond, winking at him again for I _like _his plan. "See you at home then!"

"See you."

I let him go at that, knowing that he'll be alright. If anything, I'll just be a nuisance to his pickpocketing mission, really. He acts best when solo.

And, there's also a more egotistical reason behind me ignoring him. I still want to be with my Senator fantasy. As unhealthy and impossible as it is, for I am Pathetic Johanna today.

So I make a further way through the crowded streets, halfway between the world and my fantasies. The moving bodies around me make a safe cocoon for me and my fantasies, and I dream on. I don't even realize I've walked past the security checkpoint until I notice the tight crowd dispersing into the open space. Oh, well. Sweet dreaming session sure it's been.

Except that it hasn't ended yet.

It might be just starting now.

I shift around on my spot, pretending to wait for someone, as the sight of _him _walking with the Entourage in the distance sends electric shocks down my veins.

And something suddenly takes over me. Some sort of mad urge or longing, I guess, for my feet slowly takes me to where he is. I just have to go talk to him. Heaven knows what might happen when I do that, but I don't care. I just have to.

Thus, talking to him I go.

* * *

The crowd ignores me, pretty much - spare some curious looks from the busybodies of course - as I slip up the stream of bodies, to where I last saw the Entourage. They're no longer there, unsurprisingly. Their policy is to move out of the public area as quickly as possible, before some rebels or crazypersons have the chance to gun them down or throw some Molotov cocktail at their balls. Doesn't matter though, for there's only one place they're going to. That mansion thing from five years ago, where I first and last met _him_.

I've traced my way back to it many many times since I fled it, at night when no one's looking. All when reliving the happy memory of that short encounter, as I try to make my hard life much more bearable. There're very few pieces of kindness life offered me after that day, and none of them was as sweet. The mansion memory is my go-to memory everytime something brings me down, everytime it gets too hard to motivate myself to keep going. It's a guilty pleasure, sinful yet lucrative. I become so good at getting there without getting noticed, so good that I don't even have to think which shortcuts to take, which backyards to trespass, which fences to climb. I'm there, at the last hidden corner before its gate, in something which feels like a blink of an eye.

I haven't gone completely lovestruck and dumb as to expose myself to the troupe of Peacekeepers guarding the building. Thus I crouch here comfortably, watching for signs of him or the Entourage coming. The smooth, untouched dirt road tells me that they're not yet here. Must be still in the Mayor's house for the little lunch party held for them, exchanging some bullshits with that dumbass fool of a Mayor whose head's always set on women and alcohol and all kind of naughty stuff instead of the wellbeing of this district. Still plenty of time for me to plan my break-in, to put together my strategy.

_Okay, Brainless_, I tell myself, putting my butt down on the ground just so that I can concentrate on thinking. _What would you do now?_

The next thirty minutes or so pass by as I thought of strategies and plans, with no avail. There's no question about the front gate; it's too heavily guarded I might as well shoot myself in the head before I go there. The back gate would be the same, I know. As for those side gates, I'm not sure they're still even there. The one I climbed to escape that night is definitely gone. Torn down and replaced with some brick wall shortly afterwards. I heard they did that to the other gate too, though I didn't quite come close enough to check. Even from many feet away, you can already hear the barks and howls of the things they kept behind the walls on that side. Climbing up from that side isn't a good idea - except, if you have some strange aspiration to end up as some unidentified minced meat on the ground. This is it. I'm pretty much blocked. There's no way I'll be able to talk to him.

That is, unless I'm crazy enough to expose myself to the Peacekeepers and the whole Entourage.

And, no, I'm not ready yet. As sucky as my life is, I'm not ready to leave it behind in a stupid moment of lovestruckness and unattainable desires.

The mad urge which propelled me here wanes off, as I gather myself and stand back up.

_Oh, well, Johanna. At least you know he's there and alive, and his sick Grandfather hasn't shot him in the head for sparing you._

It suddenly became all too funny I chuckle to myself as I walk off into the small alley behind me. Shit. This is just so lame. I shouldn't tell anyone about this, really. Not any of the Rascals. They'll all egg on me for months for this. Johanna doesn't love. She doesn't obsess. She doesn't give in to crazy romantic urges, doesn't will herself to get shot in the head for a guy. She's a survivor. Not a lovesick princess.

I make my swift way back home, thus. Through the alleys I know, the small patches of empty lands I recognize. Back to the life I have, the life where I survive and dream when no one's looking. Back to what I know, to Ash and the Rascals. To my own kind.

Ash. I can't help but thinking about him, as I wander off the small alleys and back into the main streets. Perhaps I should give him a chance. He's not that bad of a guy, really. Survivor and rebel and fighter, everything I admire in a person. His only flaw is that he's no Senator Gale Hawthorne. Simple as that.

Or, perhaps, if Ash's too much, I can just be forever alone with my fantasies. Simple. Done. No need to overthink it or fight for something as simple and stupid as love or lust.

And fate really has me in its cruel clutch today. Just as I've started willing myself to go for what I know and what I can get, the sight of _him _gets me again.

He's standing there across the road from where I am. Talking to some other young Senator at the very edge of the Mayor's backyard, next to that heavily-guarded fencing. Sunglasses off, some drink in hand. Just relaxing.

I curse under my breath, as my fantasies rise back in my head.

"Hey you there!"

_Fuck._

I turn around and start moving, as I feel some Peacekeepers' eyes on me.

"You there! Stop!"

Alright. Now that the Peacekeepers are dead set after me, I don't think it's a good idea to run anymore.

So I stop and turn around to face them, putting on the most innocent face I can put.

"Yes?"

My own voice grates my nerves. I grimace internally, as I imagine how that little saccharine-laden squeak must have sounded for others.

Two Peacekeepers stride towards me. I curl my toes inside my boots, reminding myself not to bolt. Bolting out is bad for my innocent pretense now. If I'm not doing something bad, surely I have no reason to run. And yes, actually, I have no reason to run. It's not like I was going to kill anyone or rob anyone, really. I was just looking.

"What's with the look?" one of them towers above me, looking coldly and demandingly at me as if he's just seen me stealing something.

"Nothing," I answer him, doing my best impression of a cower while burning with anger inside. Not easy, let me tell you. It's darn hard not to give in to the temptation to strangle this burly snob. "Just admiring the backyard, I guess. Pretty flowers, aren't they?"

He retracts a bit at this. Phew. Good job, Johanna. Looks like you can go now.

But then he turns to his comrade and give him that hand-signal to go where I stood before, and I know I'm doomed.

"Can you see the flowers?" he hollers, once his friend is in position.

"Nah," his friend answers, turning back and walking back towards where I am now. "She's just lying."

The first Peacekeeper sneers. No, snarls. I can see his yellowing teeth from my eye level way below them.

"Alright, Missy," he says. I bit my lips to restrain my angry howl as he grabs my hair and yanks my head up. "Last chance. What's with the look?"

"Just a look!" I answer, even though I know it will get me nowhere. It's better than no answer, I figure. I know I'm done, pretty much. I'll be lucky to just be spending a couple of nights in one of those cells at the Peacekeepers' Headquarters for Suspicious Behaviour. From what it looks now, I'll most likely be gunned down right away.

_Oh, well. Goodbye world. You suck, but I guess you're pretty much alright._

He releases me in one forceful, quick movement. His friend kicks me on my back, forcing me on my knees on the ground. I take in a deep breath, enjoying what might be my last taste of the pine-scented air of Seven, as I hold my gaze on my would-be killers and grit my teeth.

"Your unlucky day, Miss," the first guy says, as he draws his gun and points it right between my eyes. "Had it been any other day, you'll get away with nothing. But no. Not today. Not when we have our guests of honor here."

He pulls the triggers. And I still look on. Resisting that urge to close my eyes, for what difference it'll make, really? I'll be dead in some short seconds. I won't ever remember getting shot. Or anything at all, from now on.

"Guys, stop it."

Great. Prolonged death now. Who is this guy, and what is he doing telling the Peacekeepers to stop?

I move my eyes to him, as the Peacekeeper retracts the gun and turns to him. With his fancy grey suit, he doesn't look like a Seven native. More like... a Capitolite. Not a Senator, for those ones only wear black suits, but still someone of rank.

"Claimed?" my would-be shooter asks, giving me that quick look over the shoulders.

Guy in grey nods.

The Peacekeepers retreat without any words, leaving me alone on the ground with this mysterious saviour in front of me. I bring myself off the ground, slowly, for it's stupid to be kneeling in front of anyone when you don't have to. The whole time, I feel his eyes on me. As if assessing something.

"Well, Miss," he finally says, just as I twist my legs to make that grand escape back to life. "I guess I can't question the Senator's taste."

And with that, my waist is grabbed, and something is pressed against my face. _Fuck_. I'm owned.

I sink hopelessly to the ground, as all my muscles lost their strength and turn into useless jellies. Things swims before my eyes, and I guess I'm getting delusional, for the last thing I see before the world becomes this black thing is the pair of grey eyes I've been thinking about these past five years.

* * *

The first thing I see when I wake up is my left arm.

Except that, instead of the pale-ish skin and couple of old scratches, it's now covered in some kind of intricate drawing I don't understand. All the way from the shoulder down to the back of my left hand, ending up in this ring-like thing around the base of my ring finger.

I've been tattooed all over my arm.

"Hello, Johanna."

Ah, alright. So I'm with a familiar person, after all. Where I heard him before, I can't really comprehend. Not with this dizzy, fuzzed-up head.

"Fuck," I spit out, just because that's the only thing I can think about. It comes out like a whimper, and I hate it, but I guess whatever happened to me before since hasn't waned off fully yet.

The other person in the room starts laughing. Not _laughing _laughing. More like some cynical snorting. And somehow he becomes way more familiar to me than he already sort of does.

"_Gale. My name's Gale."_

I turn my head around at lightning speed, to the other side of this bed where he's sitting with his grey eyes fixed on me.

"Hello, Gale."

That comes out more venomous than I imagine it would be, but, whatever. I am pissed. I've just been abducted and tattooed without consent. Surely I don't have to spend time being nice.

"Glad you remember," he says, still with the amused yet cynical snorts. "Looks like you were just _having a look_, after all."

"Yes I did," I retort, snarling at him. "Glad that someone sees it, after all. Though I guess it's kind of too late now."

I snort to myself upon realizing what I've just said. The irony of my previous desire to just talk to him once more and this immense anger I feel now is too funny to be missed. Really.

He snorts along with me.

"Welcome to Capitol," he then says, throwing a sweeping glance around the room, as if showing off to me what he's got here in this room. "Not your home, I know, but this is your only chance of living, really, after you've stalked me."

His tone. Oh, hell, his tone. It's demeaning. Downrightly so, that the anger I've been building up in my chest just explodes all over him.

"FUCK YOU!" I scream out, as I lunge at him. I've thrown the covers off myself in the process, exposing myself practically _naked _- if not for the tiny little slip someone has courteously put on me - but I don't give a shit. There's nothing such as body-shame and dignity in that dingy house I lived in with the Rascals. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO ME?"

He steps back off just like that, sending me crashing onto the floor. I yelp in pain as I landed on my tender, freshly-tattooed left arm. And what his reaction is, people? Right! He's laughing. Laughing hard, as if I'm a black comedy and he's my audience.

"GO ON!" I spit out at him. "KEEP ON LAUGHING! THIS IS FUNNY! YES! GO ON!"

That sends him into a further laughter spell. I pick myself off the floor and give my slip a rough, hasty smooth-over, as it's ridden off to my waist as I fell off. With a slight uncomfortable feeling, I realize I've just mooned him as I fell off. Oh, yeah. No wonder he's laughing.

But still, he shouldn't be laughing. No. Not after he's kidnapped me and tattooed me all over an arm.

And so, just for the sake of it, I lunge at him again. It gets him this time, sending him tumbling backwards onto the wall behind us with a hiss of pain. My victory doesn't last long, though. Before I even have the time to look at him, he's grabbed my arms and flipped me over beside him, pinning me on my stomach against the wall. For a Capitol-born Senator, this guy surely excels in self-defense.

"For hell's sake, Johanna," he hisses in my ears, low and dangerous. "Just stop and listen for a second, won't you?!"

"Over my dead body," I mutter out, just to be difficult. I do stop and still myself, though. And will myself to listen to him, no matter how much I want to strangle him right now.

"Okay," he sighs out behind me, inhaling so deeply as if explaining what's happening will be harder for him than coming to terms with being kidnapped and tattooed all over is for me. "You do realize I've pulled several strings just so that your district Peacekeepers let you be after that night, don't you?"

I nod slightly against the wall, just enough just for him to see. Though I'm still dead mad, that statement is true.

"You've always been under constant watch, Johanna," he continues, satisfied with my nod. "I know each and every little thing you did back home. The petty thieving. The poaching. That one time you helped that boyfriend of yours breaking into the paper mill."

"He's just a friend," I blurt out, though I don't really see why I should tell him that now.

"Friend, close friend, boyfriend, whatever you call him," he snaps at me. He must have bent down to my ear level, for I can feel his hot breaths at the back of my neck now. "Main point is, you're doomed that second you started staring at me at the back of that mansion, Johanna _Mason_. Your Peacekeepers know you're a threat. You were definitely well on your way of getting executed right then and there."

I give him a look over my shoulder, as a sudden chill creeps down my spine. He knows everything. He even knows the full name I've never told him, or anyone else since that night for that matter.

"You're lucky I've been keeping track of what you look like, too," he rambles on, his grip on my arms loosening. "Otherwise I wouldn't have pulled that last string and just let them shoot."

"Bet you're regretting it now," I spit out, just to win the fight.

"Not yet, but I'll eventually regret it if you keep being difficult," he spits back threateningly at me. "For someone acting so lovestruck before, Johanna, your current behaviour is absolutely weird."

He steps back and releases me at this, allowing me to finally spin around and breath.

"Who told you I'm in love with you?" I challenge him, catching my hitching breaths as I flex my slightly sore arms.

He looks at me.

"Johanna," he eventually says, flashing me this weird smile-scowl mix. "It didn't take a genius to decipher that look you'd been giving me from your spot in the crowd."

_Fuck_. He actually saw what was going on, behind those sunglasses.

I just glare at him, for I don't really have anything else I can do without surrendering to him in this weird match.

"So," he starts again, looking sideways to break our gaze. "Are you still game?"

"Why do you want to know?" I challenge him again.

He turns back and look at me.

"Because you have to, now that my seal's on you."

He steps forward and grabs my left arm at this, waving it in front of my face as if reminding me of the _fucking _tattoo.

"And what does this mean, by the way?"

"This means you're my woman now, my property, bound to me until the day you die. Or that's what that clause in the constitution amendment says, anyway. From what I've seen so far, I can interpret this _any way I want_."

He then releases my arm, strides out of the room, and slams the door behind him. Leaving me alone in his snare, seething and hissing.

* * *

He disappears for the rest of the day, leaving me alone with nothing but a stack of adventure novels on the table, and my brand new tattoo to ponder upon. Oh, and as I later painfully discover, some kind of alarm which triggers in a loud blare and flashes of light whenever I come a little too close to the windows or the door.

I spend it laying on the bed with my eyes closed and my right forearm above them, exhausted yet still angry and frustrated. At one stage, someone enters the room and leaves some nice-smelling food on the table, but I can't be bothered checking it out, even. My head's full of Senator Gale Hawthorne, my silly obsession of him which turned into my downfall, and this new tattoo on my arm. Eventually I fall asleep, I guess, for the sunlight outside is starkly different from what it was that second or so ago. From evening to morning. Good job, Johanna.

The door creaks open just as I sit up on the bed and throw the covers off me. I yank the covers back on, just to shield myself a bit from whatever is coming my way. There he is, in all his black-suit glory. Looking damn ready to go to work, whenever work is for him.

"Breakfast's in five minutes," he tells me, without any greeting or 'how are you'. "Are you coming?"

"Oh," I sneer, tilting my head up so our eyes are right on each other. "Thought I'm not meant to leave this room, that alarm and all."

He sneers back at me, as he casually pulls a black thing from his pocket.

"You know there's a way to turn an alarm off, right, Johanna? And a way to change how much you're allowed to venture?"

I grit my teeth. That damned Senator has won again.

He steps into the room and slams the door behind him, just like he did when he left me yesterday. Fiery yet stoic, he holds my gaze when I glare at him. As if telling me he's not going to lose this fight too.

"You realize only one person can win this battle, don't you?" he asks me, a bit too casually, as he pulls that chair back to the side of the bed and sits down.

"Sure do," I answer him, as I raise to his challenge and hold his gaze. "And it's not gonna be you, Senator Gale Hawthorne. Just so you know."

Something flares in his eyes. I let out a mental snort, for I know I've won this time. He's getting all angry and agitated. Just like what I've wanted.

"You wanna know what I wanna give you?" he finally snaps, leaning forward to bring his face towards mine.

"No?" I ask back, playing with the 'o' sound a bit I'm singing it out.

For a second or two, it looks like nothing is gonna happen. Then my arms are grabbed firmly; my lips squished onto my teeth by this hot, rough thing, with a force so sheer I topple backwards with my attacker above me.

"That," he says, as he pulls off me and stands back up, straightening his jacket and pants. "Now, are you coming to breakfast or not?"

* * *

I ended up coming to breakfast that day, even though my heart was still racing and my face still burning I was sure it was bright red.

And since then, I've been coming to breakfast every day. Spending thirty minutes of 'family time' with my Senator's district-born mother Hazelle, his two younger brothers - one a Senator-in-training, the other one still at school - and his little sister who is twelve or some young age like that. Oh, and The Senator himself, who's all this good-son-and-devoted-brother around his family. Not to mention a great lover as well, those sneaky hand-grabs under the table and that kiss on my cheek whenever he's leaving. It's almost like we're a normal couple living with his widowed mother and younger siblings - Capitol style, as I learned from my new friendly 'sister-in-law'. With the exception that we're not by any means normal, though.

We're still at war with one another, in some ways. He's holding an upper hand on me now, for there's no way I can run away or wreak havoc now that I've known and begun liking his mother and siblings. But I haven't yet given up on it, for he hasn't won yet. Fast forward a month from my abduction and our so-called wedding - him signing a paper and stamping my fingerprint on it as I lay unconscious, really -, and we're still sleeping in separate rooms. Apparently, the room I'm sleeping in is his bedroom, as simple and furniture-sparse and un-Capitol-like as it is. He's been sleeping in his office, on that day bed in the corner, growing grumpier and grumpier each day as the thing grows more and more uncomfortable thanks to his ridiculous height.

And no, he definitely hasn't scored yet. I always made an effort to be in my best wounded fox behaviour whenever he visited me in _his own _bedroom. Nothing has gone further than that kiss my first conscious morning here, really. There hasn't even been another kiss, for I made sure he knows how serious I am about cutting off his balls if he dares doing it again.

My tattoo is fully set in now. It no longer hurts, though it still weirds me out whenever I look at it. Hazelle sat me down to compare her mark with mine one day, and we found out that we bear very similar marks, with some subtle differences. She proceeded with pointing out which parts of my marking is uniquely Gale's, and which ones stand for the Hawthorne clan. Which one is which, I don't quite remember now. I was too distracted with plotting what next to do to annoy Senator Gale Hawthorne to pay attention.

This morning, something happened. I woke up, and started chatting casually with myself in my head of what to do. And then it just occured to me that I was referring this place as home, and Senator Gale Hawthorne's family as mine. I spent the next five minutes or so in a frantic kind of denial, telling myself that I was just being a bit too happy to have some semblance of a home and a family again after all these long years of secret loneliness. But, no. I nearly made a fool of myself crying at breakfast, as it dawned on me how much everyone here cared about me. Even The Senator, whom I nearly kissed back when he bent down kissing my cheek as usual.

Sitting on my bed - _his _bed - in my room - _his _room later after breakfast finished and everyone's gone, I lean my back against the headboard and duck my legs under the covers, knees up. I close my eyes, as that tension I've had throughout the last five years floods my being again, willing my hand to do something I haven't done since district Seven. All to the memory of _my _Senator, vivid and real in flesh and bone now, not just a fantasy.

I don't know what happens or what I actually do throughout the thing, but if I hear it correctly, I might have writhed his first name out as those familiar stars explode before my eyes.

* * *

This fantasy book is nice, to be honest. Except that its main character was this infuriatingly indecisive sixteen year old, with a difficulty choosing between a guy she obviously loved and the best friend she had some sort of mad confusion towards.

Although, after I think carefully about it, she was actually somewhat nicer than I am now. At least she kind of let them both know she cared. Not like the little bitch I am, acting all cold and annoyed in front of Senator Gale Hawthorne, while pleasuring myself to the thoughts of him every day for _three weeks_ straight.

"Hello, Johanna."

Speak about the devil, and he'll be here - no, really, _think _about the devil, and he'll be here.

I lift my head up from this fantasy book I'm reading and look at the man himself. Still in his stiff-and-boring black suit - sans the jacket, with the top two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned revealing a little bit of that chest.

I mutter a curse under my breath and look away, as that simple sight somehow makes my blood boil.

"You ready for dinner?"

"Uh, yeah," I answer him, putting the book face-down on the covers. It's past sunset already, judging the colors outside the window, and so it means dinnertime. Everything works like a clockwork in this house, really. Thanks to the fleet of housekeepers they employ, those cleaners and cooks and gardeners and all.

"Not for thirty more minutes, though," he then adds, stopping me on my way off the bed. "Was just asking."

"Fuck you," I spit out at him. Only half serious, though, this time. Something has changed, somewhere between yesterday night and this morning. Or perhaps all along, without me realizing it. Or could be that I've never seriously hated him, just a bit wounded by the fact that he plucked me out of Seven just like that. Or could also be that I was actually the one wanting this all along, my fantasy and my little adventure trying to catch a glimpse - or many glimpses, actually - of him the day he visits my district a second time.

I think I might be seriously in love with my Senator.

He laughs it off - or more exactly, cynically snorts it off - and closes off that distance between him and the bed, casually pushing the door closed as he passes through it.

"How are you today, Johanna?"

"Pretty great, I think," I spill out to him. My body twists itself towards him a bit; I curse it in my head as I steer it back to its former neutral position. "I had some sleep, read the book, fell asleep again, then woke up and started reading again. How's your day?"

"Same old," he answers me, with his strange smile-scowl mixture on his face. "The same bloody idiots in the office, their same pathetic causes, the same old bore. I wish I could stay in a bed reading a book."

"Then let me go to the office in your place," I smart-alec-ed him, tilting my head a bit for I feel mischievous. "I'm sure I'll do them good more than you do."

He laughs at this. Truly laughs. Not cynically snorting.

"Sure you will, Johanna," he says afterwards, once he's composed enough to speak without gasping. Always controlled, this man. "You'll probably make a kill or two in the office, though, and I don't think I like the idea of bailing you out of jail."

I laugh, for somehow I find that funny. This man has really got me now.

"That could be fun," I tell him afterwards, lifting my brows in yet another mischievous gesture. "How much would you have to pay to get me out of there?"

"Depends on who is it that you kill," he answers with a mild eyeroll. "Favouritism rules here."

"Then I'll make sure to kill the ugliest, craziest ones," I reply playfully.

"Now, those are the ones I'll have to spend more bribe money on," he responds, chuckling as he shakes his head. "I don't think you understand the way politics work here, Johanna."

"Well," I cut him in, my temper flaring again as the fox in me writhes in its snare, angry and hissing and longing for its freedom. "How could I understand it, if all you have me doing is reading and sleeping and pottering around the house like a dumb mistress?"

He opens his mouth to spit out a retort, then closes it again as a look of realization wash over his face.

"You're right, actually," he finally admits, a bit reluctantly. "I should've given you something more educational to do."

"Oh," I coldly say to him, "so you think I'm uneducated, eh?"

"Admit it, Johanna," he calmly responds, shaking his head a bit at my response. "When did you last go to school?"

"The..."

I trail off, as I realize the significance of the timeline.

"The day before I first met you," I finish off finally, willing myself to tell him the truth.

"That's first year of upper school for you, I guess," he says with a small smug smile. "You have quite a lot of things to catch up with."

"Oh, shut up, Senator," I chide him, snorting. "You've never lived on the streets, have you? Do you know how much one can learn, just by trying to survive alone? I bet you won't know how to steal. Or how to talk someone into giving you money. Or how to lockpick and run away."

Something seems to snap in him as I say this. Looks like it's finally dawned on him how hard my life was.

"Well, Johanna," he says eventually, turning back to me with this curious inquisition in his eyes. "If you know how to lockpick and run away, how on earth are you still here?"

_Shit_. _Fuck. _

I break our gaze and focus on my lap, frantically ransacking my brain for a believable excuse.

"I... I... Well, you marked me. I can't just run away and make up some stories. One look on the arm, and they'll know."

"Oh," he responds, looking a bit crestfallen. "Right."

We fall into this silence, as I still my thundering heart and he bows down in this strange sadness I can't decipher. What is this thing in the air? Why am I sad now? Why does it hurt me to lie? I'm a chronic liar, am I not?

And suddenly I can't take all of these anymore. I'm done with this games. I lost.

"Gale," I call him, without the "Senator" or "Hawthorne" part. "When you... you _took _me here, what's your real motivation? Was - _is _- keeping me alive that important to you that you... you're willing to marry me?'

Silence. He doesn't even answer that.

"Do... do you... like me?"

I get some kind of response, in the form of a sigh and a total gaze-aversion. Which is unnecessary, for it only emphasized the truth value of the question.

"Let's come down and chat with the boys," he eventually says, completely ignoring the question he's unwittingly answered through his silence. "They're home."

He stands up and offers a hand to me at that, tilting his head away from me slightly. Must be hoping that I'll just drop the subject and take his offer.

I decide to just let him win this once, as a payback for the three weeks of vivid fantasy moments he's unknowingly given me.

* * *

From that day on, he's been avoiding me. One day, two days, three days, until finally there are seven of those days without his spurious visits to my room - _his _room. And there has been seven days of no fantasy moments for me, really, for a reason which should be obvious to all my fellow women.

The combination of those two things proves to be lethal for my mental health. I slowly started losing my mind, as the pent up emotions build up in my chest, turning it into a pressure chamber ready to explode with even the slightest provocation. I started talking less and less on the dining table, and sometimes deliberately just sent down one of the maids to tell them I was unwell, so that I didn't have to join their little family moment and have my hand squeezed and my cheek pecked by the Senator - by _Gale_. Screw him. If he wants me, he can go get me now. I'm not going to go looking for him like a lovesick puppy. This avoiding and all, he's just being ridiculous.

Or perhaps I'm being ridiculous, but, again, I'm not the one starting it and thus I shouldn't be the one ending it.

I flip around in my bed - _his _bed -, willing myself to fall asleep, as I banish all the thoughts of him and his antics out of my head. It's getting more and more frustrating, as I've been doing this for a couple of hours now.

"Fuck," I mutter to myself, flipping for the hundredth time or so. "Fuck. Fuck."

Finally, I just lose it and cave in. Slowly, I sit up and prop myself against the headboard, pulling my knees up under the sheets. And do it again, with somewhat a fresh, vivid memory of the man.

Except that it doesn't really bring me a quick fun this time. Perhaps because the memory's tainted by his recent acts. Perhaps because it's somewhat overused now. Whatever it is, this doesn't do what I want it to do.

And thus I close my eyes, and start constructing new fantasies.

It feels somewhat wrong, fantasizing about someone you see every day, someone who technically owns you though you don't want to admit that. But at the same time it feels so good and so right, and as always, the bad just wins. In just a few short minutes, I see stars. And explode right there and then, calling his name out loud, before I could use my free hand to muffle my own sounds.

I wish I had done that, though, for the door flies open ten or so seconds later, and the light switch slammed on.

"Johanna! Are you alright?"

_Shit. Fuck. Crap._

I look at him, feeling sheepish yet defensive, as I try in vain to pull my hand out of _there _without getting noticed.

"Yeah," I say, trying to hold my gaze even though it's goddamned hard. "Just... just some kind of weird dream, I guess. Something about a monster, and..."

His laughter cuts me in. Damn the world, I'm _caught_.

"Sorry," he gasps out later, as he doubles up in his laughter. "Should've known you wanted to be alone. I'll go back to the office. Except..."

"Except?"

He looks at me.

"Except if you need help making it real."

I look at him. And suddenly, all these resolve, all these defenses I've built over the past few weeks just evaporates, giving way to five years worth of tension and imagination.

"Sure," I purr out, in my best imitation of a seductive fellow Rascal back home. "Come in here, Senator."

My heart leaps out of its cage as he does come in and closes the door quietly behind him. It beats further as he strides over to the bed and throws the covers off me.

"You're a bad, bad girl, Johanna," he tells me, as he lowers himself to the bed and kneels before me. "But yes, and damn it, I like you. And that's why I took you over here."

With that honest confession, he captures my mouth with his and presses me onto the mattress, leaving me shaking and vulnerable underneath him. It occurs to me, then, that perhaps I should tell him this little truth that I have never been touched. But I soon forget the idea, for the game has truly begun.

* * *

"Well done, Senator," I praise him, as he pulls himself off me and rolls over. "Good job."

That's not what he pays attention to, though, for his eyes are fixed down there on my thighs. I look down at them, and straight away see the stains. He _knows _now.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demands, looking down at me with a mixture of guilt and self-disgust in his eyes.

"Cause I didn't want to?" I ask him back, raising my eyebrow in an attempt to make a bad joke.

"Fuck," he curses again, turning away. "That... shit. Sorry. Had I known... Damn it, Johanna. We could've taken it slower."

"Don't," I chide him. "It was good. And I have one less thing to lose now, which is good. And... well, I gave it to you, so it's yours."

I seal it with a honest confession of a kiss. With that, I've opened my heart up for him, something I've never thought I would do to any other man in the world. The game is done. The fox in the snare has finally been tamed.

He keeps his gaze on the wall for a couple of seconds, before exhaling loudly and turning back to me. "Your next time will be better, I think."

"So they say," I agree, recalling what some Rascal girls told me back home. "It has to be, for otherwise no one will be doing this thing."

He laughs at that, and captures my lips in a soft, affectionate kiss.

"Know what?" he tells me. "I've started liking that loose mouth of yours. A lot."

"Good on you," I respond to him, winking. "'Cause you'll live with it from now on."

* * *

**Year 75, Post Rebellion**

That autumn day was the start of our live together. From then on, we've stood by each other. Even when the constitution which limits my role and rights as a so-called 'Chosen One' forbids, such as whenever we're out in public for any official or unofficial party. He didn't, and still doesn't, like it when I stand a step back behind him. And I don't like it either, to be honest, for our height difference makes it really hard for me to see past him.

He introduced me to his friends - the _two _of them, really. Finnick Odair, a few-years older redhead with a chronic flirting habit, and Peeta Mellark, two years younger, blonde, and really really nice sometimes we all wonder if he's an angel. They are fellow Senators, having descended from wealthy Senator families - and also Chosen Ones. Finnick's Grandma Mags is a native of District 4, and so was the mother who passed away when he was little. Peeta's mother - the _poor _woman - was born in District 12, and actually was somewhat an acquaintance of Gale's mother Hazelle before they became friends here in Capitol. Peeta's single as, currently, though we all joke that he's just waiting for the perfect Chosen One to grace his life. Finnick has his own Chosen One. Annie Cresta, a native of 4 just like the previous two Odair brides. She's a bit strange sometimes, but she's pretty cool, and can actually be useful when the time calls.

With all these new friends and my new family, I began my life here in Capitol. It's not an easy ride, for I'm by no means an ideal Chosen One. I have too much personality, too many opinions, too much fire and sass to be able to fit into the mould of a quiet, timid, unquestioning companion. That doesn't matter, though, most of the days, for my Senator likes me for what I am. For the spitfire who'd stood up for her dignity and taken care of herself. Not for some kind of slave who'd done whatever he asked of her. Our friends and the family are, too, lovely. My only problem is the public - which actually has very little to do with me. Except when I set them off, of course - and that's exactly why I like setting them off with my antics. Let them get what they get when they provoke Johanna Mason.

Despite all the talks and reasonings and the eventual agreement that we wouldn't try to get pregnant until I was older, we did conceive that first year. By accident, of course - some silly mix up with the preventions. The next Hawthorne heir pushed his difficult way out through my still-growing hips my second autumn here in Capitol, screaming hard in anger and protest once we got him out. The doctors put something in me afterwards, for it was decided that my traumatized body wouldn't be able to handle more pregnancy in the few coming years. Apparently we'll be safe once the kid is five or so, which will be two years or so from now. Not that it's important, though, for that one kid is enough to keep Gale's hands and mine full. Talk about an entirely disastrous, crazy combination of our insane quirks in one little person with boundless energy.

The kid isn't my only trouble, though, for now. Two weeks ago, my Senator - Chosen Ones don't call their men husband - whispered me this big secret, as we laid in bed together at night.

"_We're ending all of this," he told me then, looking down as I laid my head over his chest. "Haymitch, Finnick, Peeta, and I. We're rebelling."_

"_Huh?" I asked him, lifting my head. "You? Senators? Rebelling?"_

_He put his finger on my lips in a silencing gesture._

"_Secret," he reminded me. "And we're not Senators. Those monsters are cruel and sick. We are district boys, through and through."_

_He looked up at the ceiling for a while, as if willing himself to do something, before turning back to me and asked, "you wanna join us?"_

_I didn't even have to think before I answered, "yes."_

And that is how I end up here today. In Capitol, standing together with Gale and Finnick and Peeta and Haymitch Abernathy, the boys' mentor, in the Abernathys' study. Winking at Annie and Haymitch's Chosen One Maysilee Donner, who sit on the couch at the corner looking at us.

"We've got a reinforcement from Twelve," Haymitch tells my Senator - my _husband_, as he insists me to call him nowadays. "A sharp, trained archer, with something people call an iconic charisma - or something along that general line of things, really. Your youngest uncle's daughter. Kind of looks like you in the pictures, but you know they don't always do justice."

Gale just nods, in a true Gale Hawthorne fashion. He is analyzing the thing, I can say.

"And how are we gonna take her here?" Peeta asks, always the one with insights and people skills unrivalled by any other of us.

Haymitch just looks at the blonde friend who's as good as a little brother to me. I snort, for I know well where this is heading.

"Oh, Blondie," I chide, shaking my head for poor Peeta who fails to see the obvious. "Isn't that crystal clear for you? Gale's cousin's gonna be _your _pretend Chosen One."

And that's when it all dawns on him, like a bucket of cold water above his head.

**The end.**

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Phew. You're here now, after this long, long oneshot.

Thanks for making it here. I'll start on the sequel as soon as I can, now that I've given you all a sneak peek of what's gonna happen. That would be Everlark, with major dashes of Johale and Odesta.

Till then, stay gold! :)


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